


Good Boy.

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub Undertones, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, M/M, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24320578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Based off of: https://twitter.com/ome_nach/status/1261688835588538368?s=19
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 285





	Good Boy.

" _Aren't you a good boy?_ "

Allowing his own head to loll from it's previous position, Atsumu's dampened jaw drooped lax against a defined clavicle. Brisk temperatures stroked at his persistently growing erection, the lowly spoken praise of his boyfriend merely causing him to twitch against his lower abdomen. The setter perceived his own breathing, the way it brushed and _caressed_ embarrassingly at his sweat-ridden skin; several salted pearls had slid down his temple in the past minute, while others clung for dear life at the strands of dyed hair. 

Atsumu was similar in such an aspect; clinging for dear life, of course. Not such so that he was on the verge of death, but if he had to bear the straining hard on, tip only _skimming_ his navel, Miya ponders on the occurrence that he truly _may_ die from being _absolutely_ blue balled.

"Be good and look at me, Atsumu."

The disposition the Black Jackals setter is situated in just so happens to be humiliating enough to morph into a metaphorical hammer, grasped by Sakusa Kiyoomi's calloused palms; the ultimate ego breaker. Although, it takes _several_ (and by several, Atsumu ignores the fact that it's truly only one) twitch(es) of his untouched and leaking cock to annotate mentally that he relishes in this. Being glared at and downgraded by the spiker was an arousal awakening, more so when honey laced orbs lower to notice that _someone_ is just as hard as he is.

Miya Atsumu remained on the flats of his knees, the curve of his swelled ass seated on his calves while sinewed shins pressed into the carpet of Sakusa Kiyoomi's hotel room. Resting _just_ to the rear of the setter resided both of his palms, thickset leather bounding them into a bond, meeting at the wrists; a shortened chain connected the two like the string of saliva from one swollen lip to another. Another equivalently materialized strap of leather had been tightly pressed and adjusted around the curve of Miya's neck; a collar, accompanied by a leash-like chain at it's centre. The final addition was what should been notably classified as 'the cherry ontop'; a tongue cangue, fastened with, _once again_ , leather that wove through a damp, blond nest of hair. None of the restraints were _too_ tight; no, Sakusa was sure of that before they had begun. He identified the blatant veins that were practically unmasking themselves due to the pressure, and would loosen the items a latch smaller until he was positive that Miya wouldn't lose consciousness halfway due to negative circulation.

 _Abide by Kiyoomi's desires and he'll get him off nicely._  
Perhaps even fuck him if Sakusa is, and Miya quotes, 'feeling particularly nice today.'

Which he really _fucking hopes so._

Although, so simply knotting a bow around his wrist and offering himself to Sakusa equivalently to a human sacrifice was the last thing he would do while held like this, while _placed_ in such an deflating posture. Hazel optics remained lowered whilst a stare burnt holes through him as Kiyoomi remained seated on the extremity of the bed.

Eyelids fluttered shut, droplets pooling in the sockets of Atsumu's oculars, until an all too familiar touch graced his cheek. Sakusa's fingertips assisted the other to peer his direction, the pad of his thumb swiping at the saliva drooling off Miya's lower lip and chin. Multiple drops had contaminated their freshly cleaned timber floor (courtesy of Kiyoomi) which Atsumu would definitely be making up for later. The opposite end of the collar, the leash, had been looped around the spiker's arm, hanging lax from clean skin.

"There we go. You look so pretty when you're fucking disgusting like that, Miya."

Kiyoomi's speech had obviously been pryed from the depths of his esophagus; tone gravelled and course, low and seductive. 

_He was enjoying this._  
He was enjoying this and Atsumu would never allow himself to think that Sakusa was frightened of intimacy, or the kinkiest sex of them all, ever again. 

Kiyoomi's unoccupied palm traced over Miya's lower abdomen, avoiding the head of his cock as obviously as possible; a _tease_ in which Atsumu released a choked moan at. Flawless hips bucked forward, as if attempting to come in some sort of contact with Kiyoomi's touch, but to no avail. It was _painful._

"Be patient."

They say that things are easier said than done, and it's possibly one of the obnoxious phrases that Atsumu believes due to personal experience. 

Such as now.

As if graced by the gods above, a brisk digit traces the underside of Miya's cock, earning a heady groan as his head tilted back. Sakusa had him, quite literally, at the tip of his finger. The heat swelled at the head, a copious amount of precome sliding over many veins on Miya's (somewhat average) dick. 

_God, kill him._

And as any ill mannered asshole would, Atsumu allowed his strained lips to _attempt_ to do the talking.

"Khi─"

" _Did I say you could talk?_ "

The cold fingertips retreated, leaving Miya's rock hard cock to twitch desperately into nothing but the air yet again. A whine rode out from deep inside his chest.

As several shivers rolled down Atsumu's spine, so did several tears, each one falling to the stained carpet once it reached his jawbone. Not ones of pain, or fear; no, but ones of overstimulation. It felt _too_ good that Miya swore he'd come right then and there if Sakusa dared to stroke him once more.

Atsumu knew he was less than capable with his tongue clamped to word or pronounce a gentle 'sorry', nor would Sakusa accept it anyways. Although, apparently sitting in silence for a few minutes seemed to do the trick, as the palm from previously returned to it's position, tracing the veins on the side of Miya's flushed cock. It twitched once, twice, and another, before an excessive amount of precome had stained the entirety of Kiyoomi's rough-to-touch palm.

Atsumu perked up at a low, yet rare snort from his partner.

"Look how _wet_ you are for me, baby."

Ironically, both _praises and words of degradation_ sent pulses of arousal through each artery and vein in Atsumu's body; the gentle petname 'baby' only brought a sufficient heat to his tanned cheeks.

Miya expected Sakusa to pull away, to let him deal with this torturous erection for at least five minutes more, but he was met with a closed fist rubbing him from the head to the trimmed hair at the base, slightly squeezing. The sight of Kiyoomi doing such a _dirty_ act could make him come. Several ragged groans, growls and moans escaped Miya's opened mouth, an increased amount of saliva pooling at the flesh of his tongue.

Sakusa could obviously sense his pain, as he whispered;

"Don't worry. I got you."

With five simple words, the fist around Atsumu's hot and heavy cock pumped faster, increasing the rate with every movement. The quiet, late night atmosphere had been tainted with whimpers and audible moans as Atsumu arches his spine, head thrown back as Sakusa jerks him off.  
Steamed tears streamed from half-lidded orbs, the pad of Sakusa's thumb tracing over the slit of the head, smearing the previously released precum all over the tip comfortably. Each jerk is accompanied by the flick of a wrist ─ those _flexible_ wrists making him sob pathetically. Instinctively, Miya thrust his hips forward, fucking into that calloused palm faster, faster, until white strings of come tainted his skin, the leather of his collar, as well as the back of Sakusa's palm. Even after releasing once, Kiyoomi was sure to milk Atsumu's cock free of every last droplet of come as the setter's chest rose and fell at a fast pace. The orgasm was intense. Certainly one of the most intense he's experienced.

"Fuck. Miya. Look at you. Such a fucking mess, all for me."

The sly demeanour of post-orgasmic Atsumu had returned, his clamped tongue being emphasised with a wink of one eye; all to impress Sakusa.

Kiyoomi reached behind him to collect multiple tissues only to wipe the saliva from Atsumu's chin, as well as the seed currently sliding down his washboard abs.

"There we go. Let's get you cleaned up, 'Tsumu."


End file.
